Flaws of Perfection
by AwkwardHumanBeanThing
Summary: Percy did not look past her flaws, no. He focuses on them and manages to convince her, if only a little bit, that they are not flaws. Far from it in fact. They are simply marks of her perfection.


All characters belong to Rick Riordan.

* * *

Annabeth hates her eyes.

Why did they have to be so _gray_? There was nothing unique about them. They were monotonous, drab, boring. Percy's were a gorgeous hue of green that reminded her of sea glass, which admittedly fit his personality quite well. In comparison, hers looked like they belonged to some black and white photograph. And her eyes were never as kind looking as the other girls. While theirs would be round with wonder and compassion, hers were cold and detached. They were the type of eyes that would haunt children or make them grip their mothers just a little bit tighter when they were taking a leisurely stroll in the park.

She hates her hair.

It was absolutely untamable, messy, not cute at all. While all the Aphrodite girls had flowing locks of color that seemed to always stay in place, Annabeth was left with an undesirable rat's nest. Taking a brush to it would only cause the monstrosity to grow twice in size, so the only option was a sloppy pony tail to hide the knots of straw colored hair. And gods, that gray streak. At first, she had been proud to have something that connected her and Percy together, a mark that announced he was hers. But his has faded and now she is left alone with this awful discolored clump. Now it just makes her look like an old hag, and if that wasn't bad enough as it was, it also served as an ever-constant reminder that she might not even survive to the age when her hair should naturally turn from its natural dusty color to an even duller shade.

She hates her hands.

They were knobby and frightfully skinny. Should she make a fist, her veins would rise to the surface and demand attention, and her bones would stick out at sharp points. Her middle finger was also deformed from writing and sketching too much. A bump had formed from where she would press the pencil into her fingers, and it would throb dully whenever she should write too much. Not to mention that it turned an unpleasant shade of crimson whenever she wrote now. And those damn papercuts. For the tiny wounds, they would sure sting like hell, and they would never seem to close up. Little cuts had begun to form on practically every inch of her fingers because she read too damn much. The worst part was the callouses. She would over exert herself when it comes to training and would always push herself a bit farther and a bit harder than necessary. As a result, her hands had grown accustomed to the pain and began to develop those ugly spots in order to protect her body from further damage. She just knew that her hands felt rough and uncomfortable to hold because of those damn callouses.

She hates her skin.

There are too many scars that decorate her body. The white marks that scatter every inch of her being make it look as though she's been clawed by some demon dog (which she nearly has been). It reminds her of how many times she's failed in battle; how many times she's failed to defend herself, how many times she's failed to protect her friends and brought injuries as a result of it. Her bruises would fade, but they would leave behind traces of bluish purple that threatened to forever mark her skin as a penalty for her fragility. She envied the girls who were blessed with unblemished skin and a healthy glow. But she could never be like them, there were simply too many flaws.

She hates her shape.

She was frightfully lanky for a girl her age. She knew that there were many people who could tower over her, but the simple truth was that she still was still significantly taller than most of the girls she knew. It made her stick out like a sore thumb and Annabeth hated that. Why couldn't she have been smaller? That way she could pass off as being cute or feminine instead of being a hideous giant. Then she wouldn't be as hard to approach either. Maybe she wouldn't be so intimidating and scare off everyone that comes across her. She was wasn't as developed as the other girls, and she hated herself for that. While she may have skyrocketed in height, she still looked like a prepubescent girl in most other ways. Why couldn't she be more soft and curvy? Where others have rounded edges, she is left with sharp angles. And the muscles that she had cultivated over the years bulged out against her skin, making for a rather unflattering look.

She hates herself.

But Percy doesn't.

He loves her eyes.

He loves how they refract every color of the rainbow when she smiles. They remind him of liquid silver, and damn how he could get lost in them. They were always calculating and cautious, ready to protect everyone at a moment's notice, always prepared to jump into action. And it broke his heart that there was a wall that prevented others from seeing too deep into her thoughts. But it made it all the more worthwhile when he could manage to make her laugh and for an instant, for a single fucking moment, he could see real her. Her protective barriers would come tumbling down and her soldier façade would recede in the light of her bubbling laugh, because they are teenagers, dammit, and she should be allowed to act like one.

He loves her hair.

From their ponytail, golden tendrils would tumble down, catching the light of the sun and shining it right back. The curls would bounce and move freely as she practiced fighting or running, and he claims that she looks "really pretty" when slivers of hair fall from their place to frame her face. It was also the softest thing he's ever known in this world. It brings him peace to just stroke through her hair late at night when he has trouble falling asleep. And he knows that she dislikes the section of silver, but he finds it admirable. It is a testament to her strength and all she has gone through. His has since vanished, but the portion of ivory amongst the sea of gold reminds him of all that they had gone through when they had to literally carry the weight of the world upon their shoulders. And he'll be damned if Annabeth felt ashamed for as something as chivalrous as that.

He loves her hands.

They were slender and cool and fit perfectly into his large, warm ones. If felt like two pieces of a puzzle that were made to be put together. He admired the callouses she developed from using all of those weapons. It showed just how dedicated she was to her combat practice, which was prominently displayed anytime he challenged her and she would whoop his ass. He loved that little bump on her middle finger that she got from sketching out her plans. When it would glow a bright red, he knows that she has fallen into that trance of hers where she zones in on a project and loses all sense of the world that surrounds her. He even is fond of those little cuts that she gets from flipping through so many books. She wouldn't be Annabeth without her books and trying to erase any evidence of such a large part of her personality saddens him.

He loves her skin.

It is bronzed and sun kissed from spending so much time out in the open. Her ever constant tan reminds him of their summer days spent laughing and lounging together on the beach. Her skin is smooth and warm to the touch. Should Percy ever develop a case of hypothermia, which he has once or twice, all he needs to do is schedule a spooning appointment with Annabeth and in no time, he'll feel warm and refreshed. The only fragments of skin where the skin is discolored or breaks from its smoothness is indication of a scar. And while he may not like that she has them, he detests the fact that she ever had to have gotten hurt in the first place, he is reminded that these are like little awards, congratulating her for surviving another day as a doomed demigod. It's like a big round of applause and bravo to her for surviving so fucking long.

He loves her shape.

She is just the perfect height so that he doesn't feel like a freakishly large giant when standing next to her. She also is just intimidating enough so that if anyone should ever impose, she can glare down at just about everyone and tell them to fuck off. Percy thinks that it's quite handy (especially if some mortal boy were to come along and find her just as beautiful as he did). She also has the build of a model, and he doesn't know how she misses it every time she looks in a mirror. And he finds it strangely attractive to see her well-toned muscles. It adds strength to her already powerful personality, and it was comforting to know that Annabeth would be just fine fending for herself. (But he partially blames those same muscles for making it so difficult for him to win in a battle with her.)

Percy loves every part of Annabeth.

So for him, for Percy, Annabeth accepts her flaws.

* * *

Congratulations on making it to the end! At first, I had made this really depressing because I was listening to some music with a more somber tune, but all of a sudden it switched and changed my mood along with it as well. Because of that, I went back and revised a ton of stuff and added on a lot more, and it became fluffier than I had originally intended. Welp, I'm still not very good at concluding these little rants (can you tell from my rambling?) so I guess I'm gonna make my exit. Thanks for reading and have a wonderful day!

-AwkwardHumanBeanThing


End file.
